by Gavin Reese
Michael set the thermals back down and considered how little time he had left to succeed. If the intel and the wife’s allegations are right, then I have tonight and tomorrow to save all the lives that König’s drug shipment is gonna ruin. If his dope kills another hundred addicts, and each victim had a dozen people who loved them, that’s already twelve-hundred lives. Those dozen vicarious victims likely each have a dozen more who’ll have to watch their implosion. Now we’re over fourteen-thousand lives, and God knows it’s a helluva lot more than that. He shivered at the weight thrust upon his shoulders. No pressure, Michael, but it’s all up to you. Well, and God, in all fairness, but I’m the one tasked with the burden. I don’t know how I’ll carry this cross if I fail to prevent that kind of suffering.
February 18, 3:17PM
Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.
Rogelio sat on his room’s plush king bed, leaned back against the elegant, oversized headboard, and watched Univision. He periodically glanced at the open laptop next to him on the bed. König’s still in his office and hasn’t yet been killed by any of his bad decisions. His cell phone vibrated atop the down-filled duvet and Rogelio looked at the caller ID. Finally. “Give me good news for a change.”
“The team you requested is departing within the hour. They’re on a private flight with all the weapons and gear you wanted. The plane will land at a small, unregulated airstrip an hour outside Vienna.”
"They are the kind of men I need?”
“No visible tattoos, no radical, distinguishing features, and all are former Mexican Special Forces or Marines. So, yes, they are just what you asked for. I ensured they are all flying with two changes of expensive clothes, but nothing too ‘Mexican.’”
“They will still look like foreigners here, but that cannot be avoided. They won’t need to fit in for long, perhaps only while we escape.”
“What is your plan?”
Rogelio glanced back at the laptop where König’s image still sat at his desk and worked. “We no longer have time to take our money from König before the shipment arrives, so we will let him pay us and then take our drugs back from him afterward.”
“Why don’t we just kill him and his men at the port at the exchange?”
“The port has been working well for our shipments up to now. I don’t wish to ruin that by painting their docks with blood. It is better for business to kill König on his return to Austria.”
“Very good. I know time is short, but I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Of course." Rogelio disconnected the call and considered his intended use of the imported gunmen. They’ll each earn more than enough money to buy their silence and continued loyalty. I’ll enjoy paying König’s killers with his euros. Just before he dies, I hope to explain that I counted on him to fund his own murder. Rogelio smiled at the irony. That’s the price of failure in this business.
February 18, 4:13PM
Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.
Michael waited until König walked from his office to leave the hotel room. Dressed in a bright pink polo shirt inconsistent with local dress, Michael had chosen to hide in plain sight for this brief surveillance operation. The shoe lifts, thick black eyeglasses, and shaved head helped differentiate his appearance as he walked back to the stairwell between his room and König’s suite one floor up. He still has to leave the large tourist building, cross Operngasse, and ascend four floors through the Sacher. More than enough time for me to plant the device outside his suite.
Michael ascended the stairs, stepped out onto König’s floor, and nonchalantly approached suite D41 with the small, square electronic device concealed in his left palm. As he passed the target, Michael paused to set its adhesive backing in place to the left of the door handle and frame. It just fit in a small void outside the ornate door trim and below an equally elaborate chair rail. Michael continued to the end of the hallway, where he intended to use a different set of stairs to return to his room. Seeing that no one had entered the corridor after him, Michael turned around and risked one more pass by König’s suite.
As he strode by, Michael confirmed the device reasonably blended in with its new surroundings. I can’t leave it in place for long. The housekeeping staff probably dusts and cleans the hallways once or twice a day, and they’d be the first to notice something like this. I’ll leave it here for a few hours and see what it picks up. If I’m lucky, König will walk by a few times, and I can recover it after he turns in for the night. Michael continued to the other, farther end of the hallway to find an alternate route back to his floor. With luck and divine intervention, I’ll have everything in König’s hidden room inventoried before dawn.
February 18, 8:47PM
Lokal Sacher. Vienna, Austria.
Alfred sat across the table from his date in the reservation-only restaurant on the first floor of the Hotel Sacher. She beamed while telling a story, but Alfred had already forgotten its beginning. It doesn’t matter that Stefanie hasn’t yet been found or gone missing, officially, there’s no point in carrying on with the appearance of the relationship and depriving myself of the joys in this life, just because my wife doesn’t have the decency to show herself so she can disappear properly. Alfred smiled and pretended to listen to her story. Hannah, what? I know she told me her last name. Doesn’t matter, she won’t share my reserved table for that long. Alfred chose periodic opportune moments to subtly ogle her perfect body and the little black dress she’d managed to squeeze it into. He followed her social cues and laughed along with her. Not sure what she finds funny. The front end of her tale might have been more critical than I understood.
The young woman apologized and stood. “If you’ll excuse me. Do you know where the powder room is?”
“Yes, of course. It’s behind me, through the hallway at the back.”
“Thank you, I’ll only be a moment.” Hannah moved away from the table with captivating gravitas and poise.
Alfred turned and unapologetically watched her walk away. I’m gonna enjoy screwing her tonight. He waited until losing sight of Hannah’s shapely buttocks to rotate back around. His chest filled with fear and apprehension as his Santa Lena contact, Rogelio Salvador, approached his table and helped himself to Hannah’s chair. Both men sat in silence for a moment, and Alfred saw Salvador exhibited none of the emotions welling up inside him.
“Guten abend, Herr König,” the cartel don quietly announced. “I hoped we might have a quick word, if it’s not too inconvenient a time for you and your young mistress.”
“Guten, uh, abend, Señor Salvador. No, um, she’s not,” Alfred stopped stammering and cleared his throat to gain control of himself. “How can I help you? This is, uh, most unexpected.”
“That’s the point, König. I wanted to ensure that all is well for the delivery. I would hate to think you’ve mismanaged this and failed to meet your obligations at this late hour, especially while you’re preoccupied with the help.”
Alfred leaned forward to keep their conversation private. “I’ve done nothing of the sort, all is well. Did you come all the way here just to threaten me over perceptions?”
“I know far more than you think, Herr König. If you’re certain that my payment is ready, then I’ll let you get back to your night, and whatever you hoped it would hold.”
“Yes, of course, Señor Salvador, all is well. Your fears are misplaced and whatever information you think you have is inaccurate.”
“That’s good to know. I value partnerships that I can trust. We’re looking forward to the delivery, and to ensuring that our arrangement will benefit both our families and organizations.” Salvador rose, replaced Hannah’s chair, and nodded once at Alfred. “I’ll see you again in the coming days. I hope your night is all you wish it to be.”
Alfred nodded his agreement as Salvador stepped away from the table and moved toward the hotel lobby. He didn’t understand what had just happened, or why, or--
“Is everything alright?” Hannah delicately touched h
is left shoulder as she spoke, which startled Alfred.
“Yes, of course,” he replied. Alfred looked back toward the restaurant’s entrance, but Salvador had disappeared. “I just, thought I saw someone I knew.”
“Oh?” Hannah followed his gaze as she returned to her seat. “Who was that?”
“Oh, no one you would know. A business associate from a long time ago, but, no, it was not him.” Alfred raised his glass of red wine to change the subject. “It matters not. A toast. To new...friendships...”
Hannah raised her glass, smiled, and blushed. “Yes. To new friendships, and, to gracious hosts.” She softly clinked her glass against his.
“Of course, this is, after all, the very least I can do after all that you’ve done for me.” When Hannah demurely looked away, Alfred rescanned the restaurant’s entrance. Salvador must have left. “How would you feel about ordering dessert?”
“I’m always willing to consider something sweet, and decadent, and perhaps, against the rules.”
Alfred leaned closer and flashed a devilish grin. “How would you feel about ordering dessert, from room service?”
Hannah grinned, finished her wine, and placed her folded napkin atop the table. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They stood together, but Alfred motioned for her to lead. “After you.” She smiled at his perceived chivalry and walked toward the entrance. Alfred followed close behind, hoping Hannah would allow him ample warning of anything Salvador might have planned for him. Not like Santa Lena gunmen would give a damn about shooting a woman, but she may have the decency to give me a chance to escape. No point in both of us dying tonight.
Alfred’s paranoia subsided a little more with each step he took towards his suite. As he rode the elevator with his latest mistress, his thoughts oscillated between what he hoped to do to her in the next hour, and what he feared Salvador might do to him at the Port of Koper in the next thirty-six. Better make tonight memorable, just as a precaution.
February 18, 11:13PM
Tenement Apartment Building. Outer Vienna, Austria.
Fuerza sat around a makeshift table with his MS13 cohorts. A variety of narcotics and intoxicants sat upon the repurposed bedroom door, along with all the requisite paraphernalia to make immediate use of it. Several grams of Netherlands cannabis, bottles of black-market tequila, Russian vodka, Czech methamphetamine, and a few lines of Columbian cocaine all laid out for that night’s entertainment. Along, of course, with the half-dozen girls that sauntered around the perimeter of the room and waited for El Trece to adjourn the business at hand.
“I say, if it’s up to me,” the Mara Salvatrucha Trece leader facetiously offered, “and I kinda think it is, but, still, if I’m the one callin’ the shot on this one, I say we go now. Tonight. What do you pendejos say?”
Fuerza looked around the room at his peers while El Trece used a butane torch to heat a bulbous glass meth pipe. Their leader leaned back, inhaled deeply, and blew the noxious smoke up in rings straight above him.
“I like your thinkin’, Trece,” Fuerza offered, “and I understand the wisdom in it, but I think we might be better off if we hold up a couple days.”
Their ruthless leader exhaled all his remaining meth smoke and came back to the table. “Make me a believer, Fuerza, just like you did back with those stupid cops, right?!”
The group laughed along, but Fuerza sensed the reaction would’ve been different without the potential for unpleasant consequences. “So, after a couple days watchin’ this African go around pretendin’ to run a legit business, I think we oughta hold off, just a couple days.”
“Explain yourself. I don’t believe you yet.”
“So, the African promised to deliver heavy weight in fentanyl on the 22nd, right? Seems like he’s doing business with the dude at König International, right? So, that dude has to get his shipment early on the 22nd or, even before that, like on the 21st, right? The product, the fentanyl, that the African’s promised us is high-grade shit, so a little weight goes a long way. A long way on the street, and a long way into prison, right?” Fuerza looked around the group and saw they understood what he meant. “Nobody wantsa store this shit, cuz there’s too much risk of landin’ big time in the Big House, so those peckers ain’t gonna have it for that long. I think we hit ‘em on the 21st and take it all. For free.” Retaco had passed him the meth pipe, but Fuerza passed it on to Dedos and kept talking. “Or, maybe we think even bigger.
“If they got it on the 21st or 22nd,” he continued, “then, that means they got the cash to buy it on the 20th or 21st. Now that I think ‘bout it more, I say we hit that office on the 20th and take that cash for ourselves.”
El Trece slowly clapped, as though surprised by an incredible performance. “Fuerza, that’s some genius shit! That’s why I knew I needed to take you in! How much money you think that’s gonna be?”
“Based on what the African wants to charge us for a kilo, I think we oughta walk out with some fat stacks, jéfe!”
“Lemme think.” El Trece leaned back in his seat, his right fingers stroking his goatee as he gazed up at the ceiling. “Twelve-kay a kilo, he wanted to sell us five keys. So, that’s what, like, sixty-gees? I know we ain’t his only buyer, so, we might getta make off wit’ a fat-ass hundred-thou, pendejos!”
Fuerza smiled at the idea of having that much cash to split among them, but his enthusiasm faded as he divided it among them, assuming, of course, that El Trece kept the lion’s share for himself. I’ll be damned lucky to get ten-kay! That’s real money in Honduras, but it ain’t shit here, and it damned sure ain’t worth gettin’ smoked over.
While the rest of the group fantasized about what they might do with a hundred-thousand euros, as though they each had been granted that sum, Fuerza considered ways to increase their respective take and lower the risk each of them would assume in doing so. “Trece,” he called out during a brief lull in the hypothetical spending spree. “I think I got a way to get us more cash for less danger.”
The local MS13 leader took a long drag off a joint. He often used marijuana to chase his meth, just to dull the stimulant’s sharp edge. “You got my attention.”
“So, like you said, we ain’t gonna be the African’s only buyers, so, he’s gonna have more stash than just what he’s selling us. He’s gonna make money on all this shit, so he’s gotta have a shitload of cash himself to make the big buy from that König company.”
“No shit,” Trece interjected before taking a final drag off the diminishing joint, “that’s what we been sayin’!” Pot smoke leached from his nose and mouth while he tried to hold it in his lungs.
“Right, but, yo, check this out. Instead of trying to rip the African’s dope after he buys it, I say we think ‘bout rippin’ his cash before the buy. We take his money to his contact, and we buy the big stash for what the African was gonna pay. You know it’s gotta be way less than what he’s gonna charge us, ‘cuz he’s gotta make his own scratch, right?”
El Trece smiled, which meant that most others around the makeshift table followed suit. He pointed at Fuerza with his right index- and middle finger, the depleting marijuana roach squeezed between them. “I like it! But, one problem, mijo. Why’s the African gonna give us all his cash and his dope contact? We’d have to torture his ass, maybe even kill him for that kinda intel.”
“So, Dedos and Retaco followed him all the way home a couple times, and they told me where he lives. Me and Negro went by there tonight. We ain’t gotta hurt him, we ain't even gotta risk a shootout. We're just gonna go up, knock on his door, ask for his money and his contact like goddamned muthuhfuckin’ gentlemen, and he’s gonna give it all up like the bitch he is!”
El Trece burst out laughing. Fuerza just smiled at him and the others falling all over themselves for the moment. He knew he’d have them in the end.
“You’re stupid,” his leader proclaimed and laughed aloud. “How’s that shit gonna work out?”
He looked around and waited for
the chuckles to die down. Then Fuerza leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It’s simple. Before he comes home, we’re gonna go grab his wife and kids. When we knock on the door, and he opens it and sees us there, we just gotta make him think we'll put the lumber to them.” Fuerza leaned back, spread his arms wide, and smiled wide at his own brilliance. “Ain’t no man alive that’s not gonna give up some cash and a name and phone number to save his whole family.”
El Trece clapped while the brothers seated closest to Fuerza slapped him some skin.
“We know the African’s delivery schedule,” Fuerza continued, “we know when he leaves, we know when he comes home. Only thing we don’t know yet is where he’s gonna stash it after the buy, but that shit don’t matter no more, ‘cuz he ain’t gonna be buyin’ nothin’!”
“That's, fuckin’, genius!” El Trece passed Fuerza a joint from the metal cigarette case that stored his private stash. “This shit works out, I’mma make you my new lieutenant!”
Fuerza let the enthusiasm and accolades wash over him while he lit the joint and took a heavy drag. Just the beginning. Ain’t gonna be no street-level ceiling for this Honduran trash.
February 18, 11:49PM
Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.
Dressed in a high-end set of workout clothes and a ballcap pulled low across his brow, Michael exited the stairwell and strode toward Alfred König’s hotel suite. He veered toward his target and glanced at the room numbers as he passed them. D37. D39. D41.
